To a Founder of a City

Weary with seeking Ophir's shadowy strand
Thou foundedst, on this gulf's enchanting shore
Which thou the royal standard raisedst o'er
A modern Carthage for the fabled land.

Thou wouldst not have thy name by men unscanned,
And thoughtst to bind it fast forevermore
To this thy City's mortar mixed with gore;
But thy hope, Soldier, rested on the sand.

For Cartagena sees, all choked her breath,
From her dark palaces, thy wall meet death
In ocean's feverous, unrelenting stream;

And for thy crest alone, O Conqueror bold,
As proof heraldic of thy splendid dream,
A silver city glows 'neath palm of gold.